


blame it on the boys

by lesbianenderman (eghed)



Series: artist au [1]
Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: Artist!Peter, Dick Jokes, First Meetings, Jupeter Week, M/M, rita and juno are best friends!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-29
Updated: 2018-08-29
Packaged: 2019-07-04 05:39:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15834858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eghed/pseuds/lesbianenderman
Summary: As they’re walking around, they come upon a sign with the words “Portefuielle de Nureyev: One Week Only”.“French,” Juno observes, “Pretentious.”





	blame it on the boys

**Author's Note:**

> title is from “blame it on the girls” by mika!

Juno has never been into art.

Sure, he can appreciate a nice painting. Sure, he lets Mick drag him to Home Depot (Mars Edition) to buy home decor sometimes. Sure, sometimes when he’s in an episode he scribbles angry faces in red marker on printer paper and saves it in a binder. But he really doesn’t care that much about it. 

He’s saying this to Rita as she smooths down his pink dress shirt in the doorway to the Hyperion Institute of the Arts. 

“Seeing a painting of a pear isn’t going to make my depression go away, Ritz,” Juno sighs as he tugs away from her small, orange-painted fingers. 

“Maybe not, Mr. Steel, but I know you’re gonna make a joke about one of the sculptures with its dick out and that’ll make you laugh, and laughing gives you serotonin, and serotonin makes you happy! And anything that makes you happy is worth it in my book, Mr. Steel, no matter how silly!” Rita beams, and Juno has to resist ruffling her fluffy hair. 

“Alright, kiddo, let’s see some dicks.” 

Rita belts a laugh and drags him into the building. 

As expected, there were, in fact, dicks. Plenty of them, in fact. Every time one was spotted, Juno would cough and elbow Rita, who would let out a crunchy repressed laugh. A skinny pale dude in a turtleneck gives them a weird look for laughing at the sculpture who’s gazing lovingly at a cucumber, wearing absolutely no pants, but Juno isn’t bothered. He’s gotten worse looks, of course. 

As they’re walking around, they come upon a sign with the words “Portefuielle de Nureyev: One Week Only”. 

“French,” Juno observes, “Pretentious.”

Rita snorts. “Maybe they’ll have a painting of a baguette! Wanna check it out?”  
“Might as well, if we’ve only got one week.” Juno rolls his eyes as Rita tugs him through the archway into the gallery, and...

Whoa. Alright.

The walls are lined with huge canvases, each brimming with color and texture. There’s a painting of a stream lined with smooth blue-gray stones, a purple sunset framing a huge red sun, a cat curled in between several unsafely tall stacks of books in a perfect beam of sunlight. The paintings all capture simple, everyday occurrences and makes them grand and elegant. Juno’s impressed. 

But what really catches his eye is the tall, wiry man with the slick black hair, pointed eyebrows and wolffish smile. His head is held high, and he looks down his nose when someone speaks to him. He clasps his hand behind his back, only letting them go to gesture at a painting. 

This must be Nureyev, Juno thinks. He glances at Rita, who’s tearing up a little over the cat painting, and scoots a little closer to the sharply-dressed man.  
“Mr. Nureyev, what inspires you to paint?” A short, plump woman is asking Nureyev with a nervous edge to her voice. She’s clearly new to interviewing, but she has good enthusiasm. 

“Why, dear, I simply paint what I find beautiful!” 

Nureyev is standing in front of a large, moody self-portrait. Juno scoffs, and tries to mask it as a sneeze. It fails, apparently, and Nureyev narrows his eyes in his direction.

Then his eyes are un-narrowed. 

“Dear Lord,” He says, shoving the small murder of reporters out of his way, “Have you ever seen such a face?” 

Juno stiffens up instinctively as Nureyev gets closer to him. Confused, he sneaks a glance behind him to see if the artist could possibly be talking about someone else. There’s not much back there. He looks back at Nureyev just in time to see him clasp his own calloused hand in his slender, sharp ones and place a dramatic kiss on his knuckles.

“Uh... hi?” Juno manages. He hopes his face isn’t as red as it feels. “You’re... uh, you’re Nureyev, right?” 

Nureyev laughs, still clutching Juno’s hand. “Only to my mother, dearest, call me Peter.” 

Juno gulps. The crowd of journalists are gawking, as is the rest of the room. Nureyev—or, uh, Peter, must not understand subtlety. 

Oh, he’s talking. 

“—one of the most interesting faces I’ve ever seen, and—oh, how rude of me! I don’t even know your name!” He grins. His canines are sharp. He looks almost vampiric. 

Juno’s always been into goths.

“Steel. Uh, Juno. Juno Steel.” He sees a reporter scribble something down, and it makes his stomach turn.

“Like the goddess, I presume? How fitting,” Peter purrs. 

Juno bites his lip and glances behind him again to see Rita, snickering at him. He groans and withdraws his hand from Peter’s. 

“Listen, I’m flattered, but—“

“As you very well should be! It’s not every day I offer to paint someone free of charge. Are you in, angel?” 

Juno stops. Why would someone want to paint him? He’s never felt like he looks like much, with frizzy black hair and dark circles that put a new moon to shame. His nose is crooked from the time he broke it, and he has a scar next to his left eye. What is this guy thinking? 

“Juno, darling, are you just going to leave me waiting?” 

The words leave Juno’s mouth before he can think about them. “Depends, are you going to make me look as pretentious as the rest of your work?” 

There are mild gasps from around the room, and he can hear Rita snort. His eyes widen, and he opens his stupid gob to apologize, but he realizes that Peter is laughing. 

It’s small, which doesn’t match this man at all, but he’s clearly trying to hold himself back. His right hand is partially covering his chin, but Juno can still see his point teeth poking out from behind his lips. It’s a light, tinkling sound that makes Juno feels a little fuzzy, which he hates. 

“You got me there, Mr. Steel,” Peter says in between giggles. “I’m liking you more and more already!” 

“Um,” says Juno intelligently, “You are?” 

Peter guffaws. “Of course! I do quite enjoy a lady with a sense of humor. Of course my art is pretentious; it wouldn’t be in this museum if it wasn’t!” 

The reports buzz a bit at that, and they’re starting to remind Juno of flies. Peter runs his thumb over Juno’s knuckles, which are being held over his sturdy abdomen. Juno can feel his heartbeat and it’s steadiness makes him self-conscious. 

“Well, angel, I’m terribly sorry to cut our little chat short, but I do have an art show to run!” He unclasps Juno’s hand, rifles around in his pockets, and withdraws a small, laminated slip of paper. “Give me a call if you’d like to take me up on my offer, okay?” He places the card in Juno’s hand.

Juno can only nod as Peter Nureyev walks away, off to brag about his work to hungry reporters. 

Juno can’t say he’s mad to watch him go, though. He’s got a cute ass.


End file.
